Location Unknown
by onmydeathbed
Summary: Seven years ago, Samantha Parker's parents were shot dead in their house while she sat upstairs, listening, waiting. That night triggered something within her that would change her world forever. She was to leave Beacon Hills, leaving her best friends and her life behind. She would return though, at seventeen years old, inhuman and unafraid. Eventual Stiles/OC, Rating may change!
1. 12:20am

**Location Unknown**

* * *

 _ **Prologue**_

* * *

Teresa Parker and husband, Michael were shot dead in their own home at 12:20am whilst their ten-year-old adopted daughter, Samantha, sat quietly in her bed upstairs. She was next.

The yelling was what woke her up, the gunshots, however, are what numbed her. Her father was in the police force, it had seemed like a countless amount of times in which the procedure of what exactly to do in an armed break-in scenario had been drilled into her mind. But at that moment, when her mother screamed and the first gunshot sounded, Samantha dared not to even blink. It took her thirty seconds, all while listening to her mother's sobs, to snap into action. For so young, Samantha was painstakingly quick-witted, the girl knew that if she sat still – in her bed, defenseless – she would not live to see another day. In her Star Wars pajamas, she slowly crept out of bed. The floor muffled her mother's cries, but that was what brought chills to Samantha's toes, not the coldness of the floor. She was light on her feet as she ran to her father's study, and as if on cue, just as she stepped foot into the room lit by a small lamp, the second gunshot sounded, and her mother's cries stopped.

Samantha, for what felt like the first time since she woke up, inhaled a sharp breath. The cool air filling her lungs, she darted to the drawer of her dad's desk. Roughly pulling it open, the gun she knew he had kept sat neatly on top of a pile of police reports, and she exhaled. Grabbing it, she did not care to close the drawer, instead she dropped to the floor, crawling to the far corner of the room while keeping her eyes on the doorway. Her back hit the shelves of books as she heard heavy footsteps ascend the stairs, Samantha stopped breathing all together. She raised her arms, the gun shaking as it pointed to the doorway, at about the height a man would stand.

Her dad had taught her how to use a gun before, she knew what to do, however the difference was the gun he had used to teach her was a barely functioning BB gun ordered from the internet, the gun she now held in her hand was very, very real. From the moment she had cocked her gun towards the doorway, everything was a blur.

She remembered few things of the incident, looking back at it, but the key events were clear.

He had found her, he stood tall and gaunt, covered in speckles of her parents' blood.

He saw the gun in her hands. And he matched her, his gun barrel pointing directly at her small, alarmed face from where he stood in the doorway.

He began to speak, but he had no chance to utter any more than two words before the third gunshot of the night deafened Samantha's ears.

He fell to the ground. But, he was not dead, not yet.

Fourth gunshot. It wasn't from her dad's gun, though. Samantha felt an odd push jolt her body, then a warmth in her thigh, inches above her knee. She did not look down. Instead, she shot again.

Fifth gunshot. The man was dead. And she, finally, looked down.

She memorized distinctly how the red of her blood made the printed pattern of R2D2s on her pant leg look particularly terrifying.

She too remembered how much blood came seeping out from underneath her, it made her dizzy. Her brain became foggier than before, and her eyes grew foggy too. The ringing in her ears never ceased, for what felt like an hour she could only her heart beat, the ringing and the sound of her panting.

Eventually, however, she heard a voice. It felt distant, though when she opened her eyes, the voice belonged to a person crouching only inched away from her face. He held her hands tightly as he called for someone who quickly appeared wearing uniform in the doorway who disappeared as fast as he came, Samantha felt so sleepy as she tried hard to focus on the man's face. And when she did, she smiled. It belonged to Uncle John, who wasn't really her uncle at all, but she loved him like one. He was the Sheriff, but he was also her friend. He looked concerned, she remembered that much, he was pleading with her, and at the time she didn't really know why. He told her to stay with him, over and over again, he said it was going to be okay. And with one exhale, her eyes closed for the last time that night.

* * *

 ** _7 Years Later – Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital_**

* * *

Stiles paced in the waiting room, a 'Get Well Soon' balloon tied hastily at his wrist, bobbing as he went. The overall sterile atmosphere of the hospital was no stranger to Stiles Stilinksi, he had been here many, many times before. And he, with him and his best friend always attracting mayhem, would probably be here many, many times more. Everything had felt a bit quiet since the whole Alpha and Kate Argent nonsense, the only thing keeping Stiles' mind busy was the fact that Lydia was still in hospital. And with his 10-year-plan still in movement, he was planning on staying in the hospital until she was to be released.

So, it felt somewhat normal, not entirely normal, but normal nonetheless. Something about its _normalness_ irked Stiles. The supernatural side of things died down a little, but that didn't prevent Stiles from feeling like something was watching him all the time. It was an unnerving feeling, and Stiles had brought it up on more than one occasion, but Scott had merely shrugged it off, saying he was being paranoid, _ding dong the Alpha is dead._ But every so often, when Stiles was walking to his car, to class or even crossing the street, he would feel it. The distinct feeling of someone's eyes on him. He'd sometimes even see a shadow, hiding behind the trees in the reserve, or cars in the parking lot, and that shadow would disappear almost as soon as he blinked.

Very much like the shadow he saw right then as he stopped pacing, at the end of the hallway, standing in dead center as nurses passed without a second glance. As Stiles inched closer, the shadow turned into a figure, and the figure turned into a girl. Something about her was familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. She was no older than he was, but much shorter. The distance between them hid a lot of her features, the color of her eyes hidden behind long shadowy lashes. Her face held an expression, one that Stiles could not decipher.

"Will you _please_ just go home Stiles?" Stiles jumped, turning to face Melissa McCall. He did not respond, only giving her a small expression, in which said, ' _That's a no, but I also don't have time for this right now'_ before turning back to where the girl stood. Or, more accurately, previously stood. She had disappeared, in mere seconds, as if she was never there at all.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Hi there, guess who's back at it again with a new story! Yeah, you guessed it, I am. I hope you've enjoyed this half prologue half chapter 1 kinda deal, please do let me know what you think, I already have most of the next chapter written up so if you're loving what I've got going here, let me know!

Lots of love,

Emma G.


	2. Union and Greene

**Chapter 2**

* * *

 **The Argent Household**

* * *

"That's the third time we've almost been caught this week." Scott sighed into Allison's neck as she laid underneath him. She shuffled beneath his weight, pushing him up so her eyes met his, their faces only inches apart. His gaze lightened, brown eyes softening as he gave her _that_ look. That irresistible, charming, delightful, puppy dog look. That look she _loved._

"I know, Scott." She breathed, smiling sadly. "Who knew it was possible for my parents to grow even more uptight?" Allison attempted to lighten the mood, but the mood had already been killed just about five minutes earlier when her mother came storming in looking ready to perform a full body cavity search on her daughter. Scott, of course, had half-nakedly hidden himself on her roof by then, thanks to his superhero hearing, and all. Scott met her with a look of sympathy. "It's just with the funeral tomorrow—"

"And the fact that I'm a teenage boy with dog-like tendencies, I know, I know—" He slid off her, though none of his weight rested directly on her small form to begin with, and laid by her side, "It's actually fine, like, I kind of _enjoy_ this whole sneaking around thing, adds a little adventure to the relationship, you know?" Scott grinned, his eyes squinting. Allison turned her body to face him, rolling her eyes sarcastically with a smug smile.

"Are you saying that I didn't bring excitement to the relationship to begin with?" She feigned seriousness, and if Scott didn't hear her heartbeat, or the playful tone in her voice, he probably would have taken her seriously. Instead, he laughed and took out his phone.

"Speaking of relationships, Stiles has spent the whole weekend at the hospital. We were actually supposed to hang tonight, mom's putting together a bunch of our old junk that we keep laying around to sell online for extra cash. Stiles was supposed to text me with the time he's coming over to help with pricing my old comics and stuff, but of course—" Scott presented his phone with not one notification on its brightly lit screen, "He's there for Lydia."

"I think it's cute, you know. He really cares about her." Allison stated matter-of-factly.

"Me too." Scott smiled, and then – "Oh! Another segway: Speaking of cute. Baby photos, lots of them. When searching the basement for vinyl records the other day mom found a stash of photos that haven't seen the light in like eight years, she had them scanned and sent them to me before her shift tonight at the hospital—" Scott tapped away, bringing up his camera roll and handing the device to his girlfriend.

The first one was of a mostly toothless Scott, no older than 5, cuddling Melissa McCall's leg on a playground somewhere, wearing Winnie the Pooh overalls and a green hat, the present Scott smiled fondly, not remembering the day but rather he was smiling at the face Allison had while gazing at it. She grinned, swiping to the next one, which was of not one, but two young boys, no older than 11. The fairer skinned of the two had a dopey smile while he had the other boy in a chokehold and a lightsaber at his throat. No fear, the other boy was not showing any signs of distress, instead he wore a rather cartoonish grin, in the midst of laughing.

"Stiles?" Allison asked, beaming, while tapping the boy that is clearly not Scott in the photo.

Scott chuckled quietly, "how could you tell?" His girlfriend began swiping again, there was one image of a four-year-old Scott and Santa, then one of him at Disneyland, and so on. "I haven't seen these in years." He looked up at Allison from the phone, but she was busy staring at one photo.

"Who is this?" She asked, and Scott looked down once again. The photo was taken at their local Middle School, three children stood at the gates, two with wide grins, and one with her tongue sticking out at the boy standing in the middle, who could be identified as a young, funny looking Stiles. Scott stood on the other side of Stiles, no longer toothless, instead looking remarkably similar to what he does now. The girl however, Allison could not identify. But Scott could. She stood there, funny face and all, wearing her brunette hair in braids and a too-big t-shirt with _Jurassic Park_ printed on the front. "Scott? Who is she?" Allison asked softly, staring at Scott's solemn expression.

"First day of grade 6. I didn't know mom found this." He zoomed in on the girl's face, smirking at young Stiles trying not to laugh at her face-pulling. He put the phone down, then, looking at his girlfriend with an expression of remembrance. "Samantha Parker. She grew up with Stiles and me, she was our best friend."

"What happened to her?" Allison questioned further, her hand on Scott's forearm that still held the opened photo, noting the pained look in his face.

"Her dad Michael Parker worked closely with Stiles' dad, they were best friends, he was a high rank deputy. Probably about a month after that photo was taken—" Scott gestured to the phone, "Some guy he arrested for drug and theft related charges somehow broke out of lockup and followed Mike home after a late shift— and then proceeded to break into their house while they slept—" Scott's brows furrowed, and Allison tightened her grip on his arm.

"I'm sorry, you don't have to—"

"No— No. It's okay, it's been years... I just, I haven't talked about it for a while, Stiles doesn't like to— it's just a sensitive subject." Scott nodded, and Allison pursed her lips sorrowfully. "And he shot Sam's parents. Both of them. While she listened to the whole thing upstairs." Allison gasped lightly, putting her hand over her mouth, unable to form words. "That's not it, though. He must have heard her shuffling upstairs, in her dad's office—she was so smart, Allison— and when he found her, she shot him." Scott's girlfriend gasped louder this time, her brows tied tightly together, "But he didn't die, no, he shot her back—in her thigh. But she managed to finish him off, while she bled out on the floor."

"Did she survive?" Allison whispered, unable to say anything else, her knuckles white as she gripped onto Scott's arm.

"Yes. Yeah, she did." Scott smiled sadly, as it were the only good thing that he had recounted.

"Where— where is she now?" Curiosity got the best of Scott's girlfriend, she did not know anyone by the name Samantha, there certainly wasn't anyone named Samantha at their school, perhaps she went to another.

"We don't know. She was put into a witness protection program and shipped off to her blood relatives in another state. We didn't even know she was adopted. That's all we could get from Stiles' dad. We didn't even get to say goodbye." He explained, and Allison nodded. It was quiet, then, Scott stared down at the photo once more, the expression on his face, not sad, but not happy.

"Are you okay?" Allison whispered, her hand moving from his arm to his face, turning his chin to face hers.

He squeezed her knee, "Yeah, it's been seven years. She was like a sister to Stiles and me, but I know she's okay. I just hope she's off somewhere doing what she does best, which is annoying the hell out of any voice of authority ever. You think Stiles is bad? You haven't met the girl he learnt it _all_ from."

"Oh, no." Allison giggled, thinking of what the girl would be like if she still had lived in Beacon Hills. "I think I would have liked her." She smiled, kissing Scott's cheek.

"I _know_ she would have liked you."

* * *

 **The Union Hotel**

* * *

On the corner of Union and Greene, at the very edge of Beacon Hills county lay the Union Hotel. Home of drug abusers, one-night stands, and runaways alike. The category in which Sam loosely fell into was the latter. Though, technically, she wasn't exactly _running away_ per say, she was just keeping her distance… from Louisiana, a whole 30-hour drive away. Quite literally the other side of the country. Though, she maintains that she is _not at all_ running away.

She called Room 9 her home, next door to the newly divorced but long-time heroin injector Earl. If you could bottle up all the scents one smelt on Bourbon St, New Orleans during a Saturday night venture and call it a cologne, that would be what Earl smelt like. It was peculiarly refreshing. New Orleans had been her home for seven years, though she spent many of those cooped up in a cabin on the Bayou, the smell of rotting liver and mistakes made in the dark made her feelings mix in a soothing way. An awfully odd feeling.

She had no idea what she was doing in Beacon Hills, California. She had no craving for nostalgia, she had no craving for reunions, in fact, the lack of cravings all together were beginning to drive her a little mad. She was bored, and that was that.

At least that is what she told herself, over and over again. She said it as she watched Stiles Stilinski walk to the 7/11 two streets down from the police station, she said it as she watched him eat a Reeces Peanut Butter Cup on a park bench while he waited for Scott to finish work, and she said it as she walked through the hospital to see him. And she let him see her. _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

She threw the closest thing she could grab at the awfully decorated motel room wall, and that thing was her phone, it bounced off with a bang and landed on the comforter upon her bed, settling itself within the paper-thin fabric. She grunted, combing her hands through her hair.

" _God_ , I'm so creepy. Ew. I'm literally Edward Cullen for heaven's sake, fuck my life." She paced around the room, mumbling to herself. Pulling at her borg lined denim jacket, she tossed in onto the floor so it could live amongst the perhaps hundreds of discarded garments that rested there. Throwing herself onto the bed without turning the lights off, she closed her eyes.

And then, because some higher being has it out for her, a piercing scream met Sam's ears. She cried out, pulling her knees to her chest, she hadn't heard anything quite like it before. Scratching at her ears, it lasted a few seconds before it stopped all together. Sam had been puzzled many a times before, but the confusion that had struck her after hearing that godawful sound was by far the confused she had ever been.

Sam's hearing was most definitely exceptional, she has probably one of the best sets of ears out there, but that scream sounded like it came from right in front of her, though then again, at the same time, it sounded like it was most definitely far away. Earl _never_ had women with him next door, though he once had a wife, women are _definitely_ not his type, and that can't be stressed enough.

Dawdling on it for more than an adequate length of time, Sam merely, simply, basically just shrugged it off. As stated previously, she decided she was going mad. And that was a perfectly sufficient explanation in Sam's mind, no need for semantics.

Until, of course, she turned on the dingy television in the corner of the room.

 _"—Sixteen-year-old Lydia Martin, last seen at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. Descriptors include 5 foot 3, fair skin, green eyes, strawberry blonde hair. If you have any information on her whereabouts, please contact the Sheriff's Department immediately."_

Lydia Martin. Sam could never, probably ever, forget a head of hair like that. That preschool bully had made a permanent imprint on Sam's brain, oh boy, Sam can _still_ feel the chewing gum at the base of her neck as it caught every single brunette hair it came in contact with. The haircut that followed was _not_ one of her best looks.

Sam always had the instinct to fight back, as she did with most of her bullies, turns out physical assault when you're a six-year-old girl isn't taken as seriously as when the older kids do it. But she never could bring herself _to_ fight back with Lydia. Their fighting was more bickering and the occasional harmful-to-one's-self-esteem joke, besides that one-time Lydia threw the gum in Sam's hair. But you could say Sam deserved it. She often wondered if she had stayed in Beacon Hills, if she and Lydia would be friends.

Judging by the image plastered on the television screen, they were two teenage girls from completely different worlds. Every inch of Lydia Martin is manicured to perfection, she' _s_ beautiful. Sam, however, hadn't probably had a shower in _maybe_ four days. Her clothes were stolen—or borrowed, depending on who you ask— and the state of her face had seen better days, arguably. Not to say that Sam _isn't_ beautiful, everyone is in their own right, but she could probably _do better._ Maybe, probably, definitely _should_ do better.

Sam remembered Lydia Martin being smart, they competed with each other, a lot. In the Grade 5 spelling bee they almost got into a physical brawl over a single word. But no need to digress, Lydia Martin was always the archetypal popular girl, as much as it made Sam gag to say it. And Sam, she was not that. Though her dad had a high-ranking position in the PD, and her mom was a chef in a local bistro, they did not care for luxury. Sam's acquired clothing taste loosely resembled that of a homeless person mixed with the entire cast of Empire Records. Or alternatively, Goodwill chic.

If there were one thing Sam hates, it is putting down other women. She did not _hate_ Lydia Martin, she had no real reason to. The past was in the past, as Elsa would say. Which was why she was getting up off her ass and going to find her.

* * *

 **Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital**

* * *

Scott sat patiently in the Jeep, tapping his thumbs against the dashboard as he waited for his best friend to return with an article of Lydia's clothing. He sighed, watching the doors of the building, pressing his head back against the seat, Scott thought of his conversation with Allison. He hadn't thought about Samantha for months, not since the last anniversary of her parent's death, the one day of the year that Stiles is quiet. For the past seven years, on that day, Scott would not try to distract Stiles, it was a stupid thing to try to do.

Scott loved Samantha, without a doubt, she was like a sister to him. But Stiles and her, they were different. They knew each other back to front, they spent every waking moment together each Summer, they were inseparable, and insufferable. Scott was never jealous, he knew that he and Stiles, too, had a powerful bond. But he too knew that what Sam and Stiles had didn't need to be forced or prompted by anything at all, it just came naturally to them. And that was really, kind of, lovely.

But, when _it_ happened, Stiles went mad trying to get his father to let him see her. She had left by then though, her leg patched up and already on her way to her new home. And, four months later, Claudia Stilinski died.

Interrupting his thoughts, Scott finally got eyes on Stiles as he walked inconspicuously towards the Jeep, a bloody piece of fabric in hand. The closer he got to the car, the quicker his pace got, and finally he jumped inside, handing the hospital gown to Scott.

"This was the one she was _just_ wearing?" The teen wolf asked for confirmation, and Stiles looked at his best friend with an exasperated sigh, nodding. Scott looked at Stiles confidently, "I'm not going to let anyone hurt her. Not again."

"Alright just shove the thing in your face and let's find her." Stiles turned his key and his jeep came to life with a comforting hum. Right as the headlights flickered on, a figure appeared running towards the jeep. Allison.

She came up to Scott's window, breathless. His brows furrowed as he studied his girlfriend, "What are you doing here? Someone will see us—"

Allison leaned in further, "I don't care. She's my best-friend and we need to find her before someone else does."

Scott furrowed his brows, feeling like Allison forgot that he was a whole werewolf, "I can find her before the cops can."

"What about before my father does?" She retorted, and Scott sank back into his seat.

"He knows?" Stiles spoke, worry plastered all over his face.

"Yeah, I just saw him, and three other guys leave my house in two black SUVs." She whispered, her voice thick with impatience.

Scott turned to Stiles, "A search party."

Allison huffed, "Sounds more like a hunting party."

"Get in."

* * *

 **Beacon Hills Preserve**

* * *

Not to boast, but not only did Samantha have good hearing, but she too had a great nose. The scent of human blood was something she shared a love-hate relationship with for a while now. There were some notes of the scent that made Sam's stomach churn. Sometimes she'd meet someone with an tiny little paper cut and gag at the smell of it, but other times, the smell of blood made her feel… almost euphoric. Her favorite part about it was that everyone's blood smelt a little different to one another, besides the obvious blood type, the scent depended on their age, diet, and their life choices. You never know what you're gonna get.

It should be stressed though that Sam _hated_ the smell of her own blood. She was, for a while, the friendly neighborhood vegetarian, it's how her parents raised her, and the smell of her blood then made her want to overdose on iron tablets and multivitamins. Though, she no longer would call herself a _strict_ vegetarian due to some quite pivotal life events that have occurred in recent years, the smell of her blood still made her sick to her stomach. It smelt like an abandoned ironworks factory or something of the sort. No good at all.

Lydia Martin's blood, however, smelt relatively _okay_. No iron deficiency detected, good for her. The scent was exactly what Sam had been tracking for hours before she landed on a severely burnt down house in the middle of Beacon Hills Preserve. She didn't _know_ for sure that it was Lydia's blood she had been tracking, it could have been anyone's for all she knew, but it was _something._

Sam wasn't alone at this house, as she heard chatter in the near distance. Her luck was really dwindling by the second, so it seemed. Someone beat her to it.

Someone… times three.

Already light on her feet, she watched from a distance as Stiles bent down, pulling a tripwire as Allison and Scott watched. With hardly any sound, Sam muffled a laugh as Scott was dragged to the floor then upwards by a rope at his foot.

"Stiles." Scott's voice caused both his oblivious girlfriend and insensible best friend to turn, finally realizing what had happened, "Next time you find a tripwire, don't trip it."

"Noted." Stiles swallowed thickly, he and Allison walking towards Scott to help him out, trying not to laugh. Not at all impressed, Scott groaned, flailing his body as he swayed back and forth.

A crack of a stick in the distance caught the teen wolf's attention, and "Wait –

Someone's here." Scott looked as if he were zoning in on the sound, and Sam tried to copy him, "Go— Hide!" The two did as they were told.

Sam stood completely still. Looking down at her converse-clad feet, she was not the one who caught Scott's attention, she was reckless, but she wasn't _that_ reckless, however that does not at all mean he still won't be able to find her if she drew enough attention to herself. Her ears told her that there was _another_ group of people in the woods, which made Sam more excited than she should be, she did always love a good old-fashioned party.

A man led by a group of other, well, men emerged from the brush, walking directly to where Scott still hung helplessly. The leader crouched before Scott, meeting his eyes. Sam, from where she stood, couldn't tell much about the man. He wore a leather jacket, much like his friends, had signs of aging, he was definitely human, and healthy, too.

"Scott." He said, and Sam inched closer to where the scene took place, she now stood behind a blackened pillar belonging to the house, just in case this man was looking for trouble.

"Mr. Argent." Scott retorted sheepishly. Sam exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding; this man was just his girlfriends' dad. That explains the tension.

Sam didn't know _much_ about the last few months in which Scott had been a werewolf, she _did_ know it hadn't been long at all since he was turned, it was awfully noticeable, probably one of the first things she learned upon her arrival to the town two weeks earlier.

But she did know nothing about the Argents, nor the answer as to why Scott was always sneaking around to play Romeo with Allison. Though, looking at it now, if Sam had to take a _wild_ guess, she would say that the Argents were clearly no ordinary family. She would know, Sam had her fair share of dealings with extraordinary families.

"How're you doing?" Mr. Agent asked, cynicism thick in his voice.

Scott's heart beat wildly, "Good, you know— just hanging out." Sam tried to keep a laugh in from where she stood, this interaction was all too amusing. "Is this one of yours?" Scott continued, "Its—ah, very good. Nice design, very constricting."

"What are you doing out here Scott?" Argent grunted impatiently, and Sam decided she hated this guy.

"Looking for a friend."

Argent smiled, "Ah that's right, Lydia's in your clique now, isn't she?" Scott bit down, "Isn't that the word you use? Or maybe—I think there's another way to put it— Part of your pack?"

Scott swallowed loudly, "Actually, clique sounds about right to me."

"I hope so. Because I know she's a friend of Allison's and too a special circumstance as such as yourself. One I can handle, not two. Scott do you know what a hemicorporectomy is?" It was Sam's turn to swallow thickly.

"I have a feeling I don't want to."

"The medical term for amputating something at the waist. Cutting them in half." Argent gestured to Scott's midriff, "Takes a tremendous amount of strength to cut through tissue and bone like that. Let's hope a demonstration doesn't become necessary." And with that, Argent walked off, his friends following. Sam shifted on her feet from where she stood, feeling suddenly protective over her old friend.

With Sam deep in thought about her plot to drive Mr. Argent away from Beacon Hills, she hadn't realized Allison and Stiles had reappeared in front of the teen wolf.

"Are you okay?" Sam looked up, eyeing the way the girl looked at her old friend with love and concern, and furrowed her brows, _they were really in love._

"Just another life-threatening conversation with your dad." Scott smiled from his place hanging upside down, lightening the mood.

Sam grew uncomfortable with herself as she watched the three friends talk. She pinched herself, beginning to feel like she was intruding. Something felt wrong in her stomach, so she turned on her heel and ran, her feet barely making a sound on the dirt ground.

* * *

 _ **Two hours later**_

 **29 King Street, Beacon Hills**

God knows how many times she had found herself there over the past two weeks. She'd just stand there, like she creep she had seemingly come to be, staring up at the blue house before her. She could see her window from where she stood, looking into the room in which a different girl now called her room.

The house is where she had lived once, and it is where Sam likes to say she died, too. Something had shifted that night, and no matter how hard she'd try, whatever shifted could never be put back in place. But she learned to live with it eventually.

She seemed to keep coming back, and every time she did, it brought a new memory. Sometimes, it was a memory of her and her dad who loved her very much, playing hide and go seek, or fighting with those plastic lightsabers when mom wasn't home. And sometimes, it was a memory of the boy who lived across the street who let her come over every day of every summer, and most days after school when it had started up again. He was her best friend, and she loved him very much.

But times have changed, and so have people. They were all much older now, and Sam was no longer the same Sam who left Beacon Hills without ever saying goodbye. And Stiles, well, Stiles was Stiles.

Sam turned around, her eyes meeting the grey house that sat directly opposite the old Parker house. A vibrant blue jeep sat in the driveway, one that Sam recognized as Claudia Stilinski's. Though, it wasn't Claudia's any longer, she knew that now. It couldn't be Claudia's because Claudia had passed away. Sam had learned that the first day she returned to Beacon Hills.

Claudia was like a second mother to Samantha, she was there for every one of her birthday parties, every first day of school, and she was there to back Sam up whenever the boys got on her nerves.

When Sam found out Claudia had passed away, the only feeling she felt was guilt. She had spent too many years of her life mourning over person after person, Sam didn't think she could feel it any longer. Instead, the only thing she felt was the unsettling, uncomfortable, difficult feeling of guilt.

Claudia was _everything_ to Stiles. When she started getting sick, maybe two months before _that_ night, Stiles wouldn't stop worrying, he'd have this look on his face that made Sam feel helpless. Sam always thought his mom would get better, and Stiles would be happy again, but if Sam wanted something to happen, it never would happen. That was just her luck.

Speaking of luck, just then, as she watched the Stilinski house from the other side of the road, a police cruiser pulled up in front of her. The tinted windows sounded an airy groan as they came down, revealing the driver who sat before them. John Stilinski leant out of the window, and Sam was quick to back up upon recognizing him in the dim light of the street lamps, hiding her face slightly with her hair.

"Can I help you, miss?" He asked, kindness in his voice. Sam shifted on her feet, facing slightly away from him, not able to look him in the eyes.

"No sir, just taking a walk. I'll, uh— just be on my way." Sam muttered awkwardly, her feet starting forward down the sidewalk, pulling at the distressed cuffs of her denim jacket.

"I haven't seen you round before, you new in town?" He called after her, and she stopped in her tracks, tensing. She hadn't planned for an interaction like this so early in her visit. She hadn't planned on an interaction like this at all.

She turned around, "Just visiting family, sir. Have a good night."

"Alright, it's late out, do try to get some safe." He finished, and the windows went up once again as he pulled into his driveway.

Sam let out a long breath. Time to lock herself in the motel room for a week straight.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi! Sorry for the shortness of the last two chapters, I'm just testing the waters here, making sure you guys are actually keen on reading this story! Please do review, it really makes my day, and encourages me to get the next chapter up faster.

Tell me, you've finally met our protagonist for the story in present day, if you didn't catch on with that already. Do you have any predictions for where she will take this story? She's a real treat, if you're looking for a face to match her character, I've been writing with **Katie Holmes in Disturbing Behaviour (1998)** In mind, if you wanna get a gist of her & you haven't seen Disturbing Behaviour, there are some clips on youtube you can watch! :)

Thanks for reading, and lots of love,

\- Emma


	3. A Full Moon

**A/N:** So, I'm sorry for not updating sooner. My stupid freaking laptop decided it would crash and not save 6k words worth of this chapter and the next, after a brief mental breakdown, I stopped procrastinating and rewrote it all, oh boy. Anyway, I do hope you enjoy, I'll let you know, we're one chapter away from a grand ol' reunion and a half. Stay tuned.

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

* * *

 **The Union Hotel**

"SCORE!" Sam yelled, jumping up onto her bed – converse still on and all – and pumped her fists in excitement as she chewed on the first piece of popcorn that had landed in her mouth after half an hour of trying and failing.

Realizing that she didn't need Earl from next door thinking the squeaks of her jumping on her bed meant she was having underage sex yet again, she stopped, dropping down to plop herself against the headboard. The TV blared on in front of her, the news coverage of Kate Argent's funeral had been occupying her time on and off for forty minutes now. It was boring—to say the least—so boring that the only time she actually enjoyed the broadcast was when she saw the familiar head of Stiles Stilinski duck behind a headstone after the camera pointed in his general direction. And that was 5 minutes into the broadcast. The slight chance that the camera would pan that way again was totally, definitely, not the reason she kept it on.

She was going to spend the day looking for Lydia, but her mood was leaning more towards selfish than charitable. Sam had been slipping, she'd been seen twice, by both father and son, she had to pull her shit together for her own sake. Just this once.

Her endgame was still unclear to even herself.

How long was she going to stay in Beacon Hills? Would she just pack up and leave, as if she never arrived in the first place? What was she trying to do? She was yet to have an existential crisis, though she had the feeling one was near, so until then Sam had no freaking clue how to answer her own questions.

Still though, she did however know she was not going back to New Orleans. Maybe Mystic Falls was next on her hitlist. That would be a whirlwind of fun. Letting her head fall back, hitting it hard against the headboard, she hummed to herself until the blaring voice of a news presenter woke her from her thoughts.

'Breaking News: High School Student Lydia Martin has been found and reunited with her family—'

Opening her eyes to view the TV screen, Sam let herself smile. Seems like Beacon Hills was doing just fine without her helping out after all. She pushed herself up off the bed and walked herself through the piles of clothes that lay on her floor to the small and pitiful excuse for a bathroom.

The bathroom walls were a sickly pale pink, and the bathroom fixtures were an even lighter shade of pink. There were stains everywhere, and it smelt like bottom shelf dollar store bleach, but Sam didn't complain once.

She stood in front of the mirror and scrutinized what she saw. She needed a shower, that was a fact, her dark grease ridden hair was pulled back out of her face in a hairstyle that fit somewhere between a ponytail and a bun. Some strands framed her face, not purposefully or particularly flattering, but it was evidence of her current sleeping pattern, which could be described as rolling around for two hours before giving up and downing a jug of coffee. Much like her eyes. Purples and reds spotted the skin around them, setting them deeper into her skull, darkening the hazel of her pupils. Her lips were cracked and chapped, which was nothing new. She probably looked ill to many, but in actuality, this is what her face had come to be after the past few years of non-stop pandemonium.

Sam turned behind her to pull back the shower curtain and spin the faucet to its hottest temperature. Facing the mirror once again, Sam's hands found the wallet chain at the waist of her pants and yanked it upwards so her mostly-empty wallet would fling out of her back pocket and into her hands. Opening it, she fingered one of the card slots violently until she got hold of a neatly folded piece of photograph paper.

She looked at herself in the mirror once again, and dropped her wallet so it hung, swinging against her thigh as she unfolded the photo in her hands. Without looking at it, she held the photo beside her face in the mirror and furrowed her brows. Taking in her current appearance quickly once more, she then looked at the photo beside her reflected face.

The paper itself had been stained with only God knows what, and the edges were torn and bent. But the photo encapsulated a time of only pure, unadulterated innocence. A nine-year-old Samantha Parker sat cross-legged in her bedroom, while her best friend Stiles Stilinski laid with his head in her lap, pulling a pinchable face at the camera with his eyes crossed in the most bizarre way.

The Samantha in the photo's hair was maybe a shade or two lighter, much like Sam's would be if she actually washed the grease out of it for once. Her eyes were brighter, too, but not the shade of them, the whole entirety of her eyes was so…fresh-looking. The young Samantha wore a grey t-shirt with the words 'THE SASS IS STRONG WITH THIS ONE' plastered on it, in that Star Wars font Sam knew all too well. Sam looked down at her body, she no longer wore any evidence for her pop culture fixations, instead she wore a tight black turtle neck tucked into a washed-out black pair of high-rise jeans that were a couple sizes too big on her.

Releasing her grip on the photo, she let it fall out and hit the counter. Samantha had grown up. There was no way John Stilinski, or his son could have recognized her. She was a totally, completely different person – physically. In terms of her personality, well, that was up for debate.

* * *

 **The Next Day**

 **The Old Hale House**

Derek sat still in the charred skeleton of his childhood home. He wasn't doing anything but thinking, it was the day of the full moon, and that meant dealing with his newly turned beta, who has gotten himself locked up. There were a couple of hours until he would attempt to break Isaac Lahey free, with the help of Scott McCall and much to his dismay, Stiles Stilinski. So, Derek just sat.

Derek did have a life outside turning teenagers into werewolves, or so he thinks. Moping around at his former home isn't at all his favorite past time, but it seemed to be something he did a little too often, more often now after his once essentially comatose uncle had been outed as the Alpha.

It was the one place he could really think. Though depressing, to say the least, Derek liked to think.

Derek brought his hand up to scratch at the base of his neck, but a sound stopped him completely. A nearby heartbeat. Then, a small, godawful singing voice, approaching the house. Derek stood, walking calmly towards the source of the disruption.

Looking through the window, he saw a teenage girl walking up the porch steps, totally oblivious to the man who watched her no more than two meters away. She looked deeply taken by the song blasting so loud through her earphones that Derek didn't need his advanced hearing to hear Mr. Brightside's achingly familiar tune.

"—Destiny is calling me, open up my eager eyes—" She sung, off-key. Derek cringed, and tried to hold in a smirk as her body shook violently, trying to pull off an exceedingly awkward dance move "—Cause I'm Mr. Bri—" As she swirled her body, her eyes caught Derek's and she let out something in-between a yelp and a scream. Her phone dropped out of her hand and onto the porch below her feet pulling the earphones out of her ears with a thump and a crack. She stepped backwards, her face contorted in wariness.

Derek noticed a few things as he looked at her. She was no older than 17. She looked like a regular teenage girl, at least a teenage girl going through a phase where she only bought her clothes from vintage stores and called any music that wasn't The Smith's or in the indie-rock playlist on Spotify 'a shameful excuse for a song'. Her clothing was torn in places, but Derek assumed that was for stylistic purposes. She held a stance that said she wasn't scared, and that she could handle herself if need be.

Then again, she too held a stance that said she probably couldn't balance on one foot for more than eight seconds. But, there was something off about her. Her eyes spoke something that her body didn't. She had that look people had when they've seen a lot of shit in their time. Her heartbeat was regular, but it was eerily regular. Almost fake. She smelt like Irish whiskey and cigarette smoke, but that's it. He couldn't smell anything unnatural about her, but he couldn't smell anything human about her either. Derek knew that some wolves had so much mastery that they're able to inhibit their scent completely, but there was always a sign that they were wolves. This girl had nothing.

"What are you?" Derek was the first to break the silence, and the girl crossed her arms defensively.

"Weird conversation starter, but okay." The girl's brows furrowed as she shifted on her feet, "I'm a teenage girl, what are you?" She gestured at him, but immediately put her arm back where it rested folded against her chest, "You know what? Don't answer that. You hang out at abandoned houses, I think I have my answer, you're weird and I— I don't like you."

"You're literally also here at an abandoned house." Derek said with a stern face.

"I was going for a jog and I came across this place and thought I'd check it out, nothing weird about that." The girl grinned, almost pleased she was getting away with something, but Derek wasn't having it.

"You were going for a jog…wearing jeans?" Derek gestured to her attire, and the girl scrunched up her face as if she was beating herself up inside as she looked down to confirm that she was, in fact, wearing jeans.

"You have some nerve to be commenting on a teenage girl's clothing like that, mister—"

"Who are you? Are you a friend of Scott's or—"

"I'm just here visiting family, looked up on the internet where I can do some urban exploring and all that fun delinquent stuff kids do these days, this place pops up and Bob's your uncle." The girl picked up her phone and began backing away, she had a mischievous bounce about her walk.

"What's your name?" Derek asked, watching her carefully.

She shrugged, "You tell me yours and I'll tell you mine."

"Derek. Derek Hale." He complied, and her smirk grew wider.

"I'll see you around, Derek Hale."

* * *

 **4 Hours Later**

 **Beneath the Full Moon**

 **Beacon Hills County Police Station**

Something itched at Samantha's arm, but it was not a bug, nor the fabric of her Sherpa lined jacket, it was the moon that hung above her in the dark blue of the sky. She didn't feel cold at all, but she hugged her jacket closer to her body as she stood beneath a tree just outside the police cruiser parking lot.

She didn't have a plan, besides her plan to not – under _most_ circumstances – interfere with the heist Stiles and the Big Bad Wolf were trying to pull off. Much like her not having a plan when she purposefully bumped into said Wolf earlier that day.

She was being stupid and impulsive, because apparently boredom is all it takes for Sam to out herself these days. She _did_ want to meet Derek Hale, she had heard things about his family in the grapevine. God only knows why Sam seems to keep running into supernatural families, but if no family could bring more pandemonium than the one she met in New Orleans, and that was a fact. Nevertheless, Sam wanted to see Derek for herself. Up, close and personal. Sniff him out.

Mysterious, broody and attractive. Those were the three words that Samantha decided described Derek Hale the best. He was definitely the Christian Grey type, except sadder. He didn't seem to find her threatening, which bugged her, she categorically thought she gave off much more of an intimidating vibe. How disappointing. He didn't appreciate her sardonic humour either, which Sam didn't like one bit.

Sam strained her ears only to hear Derek chatting up the deputy at the front desk, rolling her eyes so hard it pained her, she zoned in on Stiles' racing heart. She felt something warm within her, she could just picture Stiles crawling on the floor like an oversized toddler as Derek distracted the officer.

Suddenly, a vibration came from her leg. She shoved her fist into the pocket of her jeans and brought her barely functioning iPhone in front of her. There were two texts there, the first texts she'd received since she left Louisiana two weeks earlier, both from the one of the few people who actually would willingly text Samantha.

 **Hayley:** _Cami's dead. Thought you should know._

 **Hayley:** _I know it's hard for you to stay out of trouble, but I do hope you're behaving yourself wherever you are._

Sam let out a sigh and begun typing a text but decided she had a persona to uphold, and that persona didn't involve replying to text messages from people she trusts, apparently.

The first text's words spoke news to her. Not surprising news, but not something she thought would happen any time soon. Sam knew how to deal with death, she had been doing it for far too long now, and she suspected that she'd be dealing with it until the day someone put her out of her misery. The woman who had died – Cami – had been a friend of sorts to her. She was like an unpaid shrink, she knew the deep recesses of Samantha's mind from just seeing the way she slouched when she sat. But she too was like a lure, attracting only the worst of the population. Sam would not ask Hayley for any details, she could fill in the gaps herself. And then wait for the next person to die.

Samantha shoved her phone back into her ass pocket with a yawn, just in time to refocus on Stiles' heartbeat, which beat faster than it had before. Furrowing her brows and stepping out of the shadows, she zoned in further.

A couple seconds later, the fire alarm began to blare, and Sam winced as it clouded her hearing. This was not good. Something was very, very wrong.

Sam walked closer to the brick of the building, tucking her hair behind her ear and pressing her ear against its cool surface. Faintly, she could hear signs of struggle, but not from her Stiles. Derek, she suspected, was fighting with Isaac, the handsome blonde-haired boy in lockup. After a few moments, where Sam found her stuck between wanting in on the fun, and not wanting to further fuck up her streak of not seeming suspicious, Sam heard a powerful noise she knew all too well. An Alpha's snarl.

The pits of Sam's stomach churned, and her bones ached as she fought against _its_ pull. She grunted, and then slapped herself in her face. Three times. _Behave,_ she told herself. _Behave._

The roar died down. And then it was all over. No more fighting. No more struggles. Silence, if you cut out the still blaring fire alarm. Assuming all was good in the world, she stepped back, her cheeks stinging from her self-discipline.

Samantha looked up at the moon and scrunched up her face.

"Fuck off." She growled at its fullness, and then spat on the cement ground as she walked away from the station.

* * *

 **A/N: Please do review, it will make the painful task of rewriting this chapter so, so worth it.**


	4. The First Encounter

**A/N: Sorry for the super, super late update. I've been going through some shit, but here we go.**

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

* * *

Sam shoved her key in the slot and kicked open the motel room door, throwing the keys at the nearest pile of clothing. This was all getting way too repetitive.

She wanted to get into trouble, she wanted to dance around in the streets naked, or start a bar fight with men three times her size armed with only her fists. This was the most bored she has been in years. It felt like eons since she'd had a good laugh or been put behind bars. She was missing New Orleans. She missed her _acquaintances_. Even if most of them, if not all, _were_ homicidal maniacs.

But there was nothing left in New Orleans for her anymore, no real family that actually felt like family and no future there for her to live.

Here, in Beacon Hills however, she had people she actually _cared_ about. The same people she was forced to cut out of her life as soon as her parents – or who she thought were her parents – were cut out of _her_ life by a few gunshots in the middle of the night.

Stiles Stilinski and Scott McCall. They were the only friends Sam could really say she ever had in her seventeen years of living. Sure, there was Davina. There was Cami – now dead, Elijah, and even Kol, when he was actually around. But everyone she had met in the past 7 years of her life did her wrong at one point, and Sam had learnt to stop being so forgiving.

There was one thing Samantha was certain on, and that was Stiles and Scott could never do Sam wrong. They just didn't have it in them. Not even after she did them wrong by not ever saying goodbye.

That's why she's back in Beacon Hills. She missed them, and to make up for it all. She was going to protect them from whatever supernatural bullshit that could be thrown at them.

But it should too be stressed that she was impulsive. There's another reason.

Scratching her forehead, then unbuttoning and shuffling off her oversized pair jeans that have needed a wash since the 80s, she fell into her bed.

 _Little Samantha stood at the door of a house. The big man with a suit on stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder. There was a shuffle behind the wooden entrance, and suddenly the door opened, revealing a teenage boy, no older than 16. He didn't say anything, he just held a sceptical face. He had long hair for a boy, Samantha thought, and he wore flannel too, just like Stiles did. After a few moments of silence, an older lady came up behind him, baring a smile unlike the boys._

 _"You must be our Samantha. It's so nice to finally meet you, dear." The old lady spoke, her voice sounded nice, the little girl thought, but her face looked unkind._

 _"Mary Dumas, I'm Detective Abram." He shook the lady's hand, "All paperwork has been filed and Samantha's all set to move in." Abram pushed a reluctant Sam forwards into the doorway. "I'll be on my way now, goodbye Samantha."_

 _The girl's brows furrowed, "Bye Mr. Abram." She waved as he began to walk away towards his black car that smelt like mint and pine and gave Samantha a headache. She looked back towards the old lady and the boy, "You're my Grandma?"_

 _The lady's lips cracked a smile, "Yes, and this is your—" she paused, thinking of what to say, "Cousin. Jackson, this is Samantha."_

 _"Hi." Jackson said, crossing his arms._

 _The tall for a ten-year-old girl pursed her lips in response to his attitude, "Hi."_

 _48 hours ago, her parents were confirmed dead by the Beacon Hills County Coroner, and now she stood across the country being introduced to her new family._

 _And, not even three days later from that – on the night of the first full moon since her parents were killed – she was already a completely and utterly different person._

 _"Welcome to the Crescent Wolves, Samantha." One of the many people surrounding her whispered. Ten-year-old Samantha screamed and dropped to the floor as her knees buckled beneath her. Every single bone in her body began to rattle, her chest rose and fell with every crack and every pop. She shrivelled and contorted her body into the foetal position, sobbing as she gave into the burning of every muscle she had. Her thigh bones were the first to snap, making a sickening crunch as it rearranged itself underneath her skin._

 _The ache in her teeth made her scratch at her face, but the nails she had grown so instantly caused her skin to tear and blood to pour down her cheeks. Blood. She could taste the blood in her gums as her canines grew long and sharp, cutting her bottom lip before the skin could grow tough._

 _She could smell the grass she tore out of the ground as she groaned, she could smell the sweat pour out of every gland on her forehead as her nose grew into a snout._

 _Her ears rang, and the distinct sound of her young female voice morphed into something inhuman. Something animal. Her hearing sharpened, and she could her the tears of each and every one of her nerves as they reattached themselves. She could hear her heart beat unevenly, yet so loud it drowned out the noise of her cousin Jackson telling her that she needs to let it all happen._

 _The pain she had experienced was the worst she had ever felt as she threw herself up and onto her knees, her clothes tearing and falling off as her coat grew and her body shaped itself into one of a wolves._

Samantha jolted upright, sweat dripping down her forehead. She clutched at her heart, more out of habit than anything.

The sun leaked through the curtains and painted the room a warm shade of orange, she let her head hit the headboard with a hard and painful thump and sighed when her breathing slowed down, rolling her eyes, "I've fucking had it with full moons."

* * *

 **Two Days Later**

 **Beacon Hills High School**

Derek Hale was turning teenagers. Sam had originally assumed that the Alpha turning Isaac was a mistake, because those things apparently happen a lot around here, but she was very, very wrong. Derek Hale was building a pack. A pack full of hormonal teenagers. _What a fucking dumbass._

He had turned two more kids since Isaac, a girl named Erica and a boy named Boyd. Samantha had never seen these two kids in her life, which is probably why he turned them in the first place. But then again, she _had_ disappeared and not stepped foot in Beacon Hills for the last seven years.

Sam didn't like Erica's new attitude. She didn't know anything about Erika's _old_ attitude, but the one she so clearly presented post-bite made Sam's blood boil. She was all about standing with women, not against them, she had a collection of old feminist literature to show for it, but when someone messes with Claudia Stilinski's old jeep, they're on the hit list.

He had his betas living in an abandoned railroad depot in the warehouse district. Rookie move. So predictable. She spent the entire previous day scoping it out when they weren't there, it's not at all the most comfortable living space for a secret lair, but Sam had seen worse. Derek spent hours trying to get one of his betas to make an arbitrary move, to attack him when he's most vulnerable, but they only failed. And that is precisely the reason why you don't turn random teens you know nothing about. You're stuck with their useless asses until they get killed.

When Sam got home to her motel room after wasting her time for four hours in the outskirts of Beacon Hills, she punched herself in the face. Watching the late night broadcast of the news, she had learned she had failed Stiles Stilinski, but it wouldn't be the first time.

 _'Armor Tire and Service Center Mechanic Samuel Finch found crushed by hydraulic lift. Detectives are reporting that the hydraulic line had been cut, leaving speculation that this was a premeditated incident. If you know any details that may—'_

It was when Sam saw Claudia Stilinski's blue jeep in the background of the report, she froze. Of course, Stiles would have been there, in trouble, while she was off being a creep elsewhere. The _one_ time.

But now, as she sat idly on the bleachers at Beacon Hills High School's lacrosse field. Watching Stiles Stilinski like a freaking hawk. She wore the five-panel dad cap with _VICEROY_ embroidered on the front that she stole from some hipster on the street earlier that day to conceal herself from the various parents and girlfriends that too sat on the bleachers. Not that any of them would know who the hell she was.

Still, she sat wearing an assortment of clothes that she put on knowing that there was a potential she'll actually be seen for once. Her favourite pair of ripped black jeans sat high on her waist, in their aged Levi's glory, a couple sizes too big but that's nothing a thick leather belt couldn't fix. She wore a hastily cropped wife beater tank, and a black oversized denim jacket to keep up appearances. Apparently, it was cold outside. She played with the frayed hole at her knee as she listened to Allison Argent talking with her homicidal maniac of a grandfather.

Allison shivered and looked at the older Argent, "I knew I should've brought a warmer jacket."

Samantha almost laughed, because the homicidal maniac actually looked concerned for his granddaughter. Maybe he does have empathy after all. Interesting. "You're cold." He said, standing up to shuffle off his winter coat, "Here, take my coat."

"Are you sure?" She questioned, but she was already going to take it. Sam could hear the slight rattle of keys coming from one of the pockets.

"Smart girl." Sam commented from afar, and the father of one of the other team's players who sat beside her looked at her quizzically. She pulled a face at him that fell somewhere between a smile and a scowl. She turned her head back to the field, and her eyes landed on Stiles.

Allison had her hand hanging out towards the gap in the bleachers, passing her childhood best friend all dressed in maroon Gerard's keys.

"What are they up to?" She whispered to herself, scratching at her forehead while beginning to stand up, the father who sat beside her looked at her again, and just as she met his eyes, he looked away. With a smirk, she began walking down the bleachers, on her way to follow Stiles Stilinski.

* * *

Dragging her feet across the ground as she walked lazily down the same path Stiles took, Sam smelt the trail of rosemary and cinnamon that Stiles seemed to have left behind. She heard Stiles talking in the distance, and she finally stopped where she wasn't too close, or too far away.

Stiles had ended up in the carpark, standing outside a vehicle containing none other than Sam's favourite childhood bully, Lydia Martin.

"Look, you shouldn't care if people see you cry. Alright?" Stiles spoke, and Sam furrowed her brows. "Especially you."

Samantha couldn't _see_ Lydia, but she could hear her loud and clear. You could never miss the sound of a teenage girl crying. "Why?" She sniffled, and Sam grew uncomfortable.

"Because I think you look really beautiful when you cry."

 _Oh boy. Okay._ Sam shifted on her feet, deciding that she did not at all want to listen in on this. Panicking, she blocked her ears with her fingers and turned around, _La la la la._ After a few moments of dancing around, not knowing what exactly to do, she unblocked her ears and turned around once again. And what she saw was not at all what she expected. Stiles was running away.

Her brows tied even closer together, _what the hell?_ Sam sighed, then ran after the one person she could be fucked keeping an eye on for this long.

* * *

Gerard's office smelt like a Goodwill. Musty, aged and leathery. Stiles rummaged through the desk drawers, in his cabinets, and even under his single pot plant that needs a good water in the corner.

"Book, book, book—" He repeated, trying to find anything that looked remotely like a bestiary. But no luck. Pulling out his phone hastily, he sent a message to Allison.

 **Stiles:** _Nothing here._

"Hello Stiles." Stiles jumped back, yelling an 'oh' as his heart stopped for a moment. Erica Reyes stood at the door, her menacing smile still glimmering in the low light.

"Erica—hey, what are you doing—uh, here?" He fumbled over his words, trying his best to ask unremarkably inconspicuous.

"I could ask you the same question." She said, and before he could respond, she walked towards him and he swallowed his words down hard. Her manicured hand flew up and grabbed his ear, pulling him out the door and down the hall, past the gym and into the aquatic centre.

"Stiles." Derek stood there, a basketball in his hands. Stiles heart probably raised a couple of beats per minute, but there was no telling with Derek's expression. He meant business.

* * *

The boy shuffled on his feet, annoyed, impatient and perhaps a little nervous, "Derek."

Derek didn't waste any time, "What did u see at the mechanics garage?"

Stiles scoffed, scratching the back of his neck, "Ah— several serious EPA violations that I'm definitely considering reporting." The alpha's jaw tightened, and Derek pierced the basketball with his claws, his face not shifting into a expression of any kind but seriousness as Stiles' heartrate quickened, "Holy god."

"Let's try that again." Derek said, and Erica smirked.

Grumbling, Stiles gave in, "Alright, the thing was pretty slick looking— um, skin was dark, kind of patterned, I think I actually saw scales— alright, is that enough because I have somebody I really need to talk to—?" Stiles looked beggingly at Derek, but he none of his muscles even twitched "Hm, alright fine , eyes are—uh— yellowish and slitted, um—it has a lot of teeth and it's got a tail too— are we good?" Stiles began to trail off, but Derek and Erica looked rather distracted, their faces held an expression of alarm and knowing. "What? Have you seen it? You have this look on your faces like you know exactly what I'm talking about."

Before the alpha and beta could respond, Stiles jumped at a harsh and sudden hissing coming from behind him, he screamed before he saw it.

Derek growled loudly as the creature jumped down from its latch above them, but it was quick. With a blink, it threw Erica aside hitting the wall with a loud crack, sending her crashing down onto the floor, knocked out.

Somewhat protectively and unexpectedly, Derek pushed Stiles chest, sending the boy away from the scene, "Run!" Stiles began turning on his heels, panic thick in his throat, but before he could begin his escape, the creature whipped around, it's tail lashing out like a whip, the tip long and sharp, sliced Derek's neck. This was not good. No good at all.

"Derek! Your neck—" Stiles called, knowing what was to come, but the creature began backing up, hissing once more. "Derek—"

There was a look on Derek's face that Stiles had never observed on him before, utter shock, as the numbness began to consume his body. The teenage boy's instincts came in as he saw what would happen before it did happen, catching the paralysed Derek in his arms like deadweight. He was heavier than he looks.

Stiles looked up from Derek, trying to see where the creature went, but it was nowhere to be seen, "Where is it? Can you see it?"

"No, just hurry— Call scott—" But before Stiles could do as Derek said, Stiles dropped the phone. Without thinking, Stiles went to get it, dropping Derek's weight, thinking he'd only fall onto the ground. But a thump never came, only a splash.

Stiles had a choice to make. Let Derek drown, or call Scott for help. Thinking for a long moment, Stiles dove into the water.

Stiles wouldn't call himself a _swimmer_ per say, he _could_ swim, quite well actually, but did he _like_ swimming? No. As he hit the water, the coldness soaked through his clothing and hit his skin with force. But there was no time to focus his attention on the temperature, squinting his burning open eyes, Stiles grabbed the cotton of Derek's shirt and pulled him up to the surface with ease.

Gasping and sputtering, Derek looked around frantically, "Where did it go? Where is it do you see it?"

Stiles breathed heavily, water spitting out of his mouth, "No—"

"Maybe it took off?" Derek asked, but a screech, echoing against the tiled walls made Stiles paddle his legs faster to keep them both afloat.

"Maybe not." Stiles added breathlessly.

Derek struggled to grasp Stiles' attitude, "Will you get me out of here before I drown?"

Scoffing, Stiles pulled Derek up further, his limbs burning from strain, "You're worried about drowning? Did you notice the thing out there with multiple rows of razor-sharp teeth?"

"Did you notice that I'm paralysed from the neck down in 8 feet of water?" Derek's voice broke, and in any normal situation, Stiles would laugh. _Ha, ha! The big, bad and broody wolf's voice broke!_

"Okay, I don't see it–" Stiles finally said, breathless, the burning getting stronger.

"W—Wait—" Derek stuttred, "Stop, stop!" He yelled at Stiles, getting him to stop treading water so loudly.

Stiles looked up from Derek, at the edge of the pool the creature circled the water, hissing.

"What's it waiting for?" Derek asked, but Stiles shook his head. The creatures scaled arm reached out, allowing it's hand to touch the water, but suddenly, as if the liquid burned it, it hissed and stepped back like a frightened animal. "Wait do you see that? I don't think he can swim—"

"Okay— okay I don't think I can do this much longer—" Stiles' arms began to cramp, if he didn't get them both out of there soon, they'd both drown, Derek from being paralysed in, as he said, 8 feet of water, and Stiles from exhaustion. The teenage eyed the phone at the side of the pool.

"No, no, no— don't even think about it—" Derek hissed at Stiles, though he had no control over the situation.

"I'm the one keeping you alive did you think about that?" The human boy snapped.

"Yeah and when the paralysis wears off who's gonna be able to fight that thing? You or me?"

"That's why ive been holding you up for the past two hours—Or however long its been..." Stiles let Derek slip a bit as he tried to regain his treading momentum, the older male yelped, but Stiles scoffed, "You don't trust me."

"I don't trust you, but you need me to survive which is why you're not letting me go—" Derek noticed the look on Stiles' face, knowing exactly what was coming, "STILES!"

Stiles let Derek go, and as if he suddenly regained his strength, the boy swam as fast as he physically could to the edge of the pool.

The moment Stiles' hand touched the phone, things moved in slow motion. The creature darted for him, screeching with its sharp daggers for teeth bared. But it never touched Stiles, instead, he heard a voice.

"Hey ! Yoo-hoo!" And the creature flew back into the wall, cracking the tiles and sending the wall-clock down with it. And suddenly, as if she appeared from nowhere, there was that girl. She stood defensively with her back facing the edge of the pool, in front of where Stiles looked, swimming there speechless, she was protecting him. He almost had forgotten Derek was drowning. Snapping himself out of his trance, he rushed back, splashing as he dove deep into the water once again to retrieve the drowning werewolf.

When he pulled him up, Stiles' eyes immediately found themselves on the girl again. He watched her, as he realized the coast was clear enough to hold both himself and Derek up from the far end of the pool, as far away from the creature as possible. Derek kept swearing at Stiles, scolding him for letting him go. But Stiles didn't listen, as he pulled Derek to the edge of the pool, he watched the creature get up, staggering and almost growling. Clutching the metal latter, Stiles no longer had to tread on water and his breathing returned to _almost_ normal.

The girl laughed, "Oh my god, this is so bizarre I've never seen anything quite like it. You're so ugly!—Wow, do you know the Queen of England? Is she a lizard too? Are _you_ the queen of England?"

Stiles couldn't see her face, but she was definitely the same girl from the hospital, it had to be. There was something about her that was so familiar, and her voice, the way she talked, it was like he knew her. He couldn't figure it out, the one time he couldn't figure it out.

The girl wasn't afraid. The creature snarled, running at her but she dodged its attempts at swiping at her face, then she got her punches in. She kicked at it, and it fell back slightly, then went to attack her again. Its tail whipped back, and before Stiles could stop himself, he yelled.

"Hey—Its tail! Watch out!"

She looked back at Stiles, meeting his eyes, and for that moment of distraction, the venomous tail swiped at her neck.

But nothing happened. She didn't drop to the ground, at least not from paralysis. Instead, the creature kicked at her, swiping its fists, bringing it down upon her face, it hit the side of her chin, bruising her cheekbone and splitting her lip, blood flowing into her mouth. She spat, spitting her terrible tasting blood at the concrete floor below, and growled.

She attempted to swipe her claws at him, but he ducked around and found his hands at her neck, hoisting up the 5'5 young woman and holding her there for a few seconds. She smirked, managing to croak out a few words, "I'll— take it you don't think the Queen's a lizard?" The creature squeezed at her neck, but she only smiled more. It seemed to irritate the monster, because he threw her against the nearest wall. Her body hit it with a crack and she fell down onto a wooden bench, breaking it instantly.

Groaning, she turned over, finding the creature standing and staring at her, like it was contemplating something. She let herself shift, her fangs baring, and veins spreading out on her cheeks, burning as they bled out of her wound. The creature acted fast, and the girl found herself thankful that Stiles was too far away to see, the creature wrapped its claws around one of the thick wooden splinters beside her and shoved it into her chest.

* * *

 **Two Hours Later**

 **Beacon Hills** **Veterinary** **Clinic**

Derek and Scott laid the girl on the table, her brown hair spreading across the cool metal, her skin seemed to be the same temperature as the cool tin. Stiles hadn't stopped staring at her since they left the school, there was something on the back of his mind, a feeling of familiarity that he didn't quite want to surface. She had a face that reminded him of another face, and a way of presenting herself that looked like the distant, deformed version of a personality he once knew. But it couldn't be that simple. She couldn't just come back, not after all this time. It wasn't her.

Scott noticed Stiles' rigidity and furrowed his brows, "You okay, Stiles?"

Stiles finally looked up at his best friend, his face searching for an answer, "Y—Yeah, it's just…doesn't she look familiar to you?"

"You said you saw her before, following you around? That's why you think she looks familiar, right?" Scott pressed, feeling odd about Stiles' recent behaviour towards this whole mystery girl phenomenon.

"I've seen her too." Derek spoke up, and Stiles and Scott looked at him with wide eyes.

"What? You—Why didn't you say anything?" Stiles' voice hitched up higher than usual, he had thought he'd been going crazy, but he wasn't.

"I'm not sure, figured she was just lost. I was too busy focusing on _other_ things to go chasing this human girl – who didn't actually seem human." Derek's face spoke something that could be read as regret, a bit of an _oh shit, I should have probably looked into that further._

Scott's brows furrowed, "What do you mean?"

"She had a heartbeat and smelt human when I met her." Derek shrugged, clearly confused himself.

"You mean she was just changed in the time between you meeting her and now?" Stiles pointed fingers in all directions, attempting to make sense of it all.

"No, she's been like this for a while." Deaton said, entering the room. "She's not dead, she's undead. They look like this when they're in a comatose state, not quite dead but not quite alive."

"Wouldn't a wooden stake kill a vampire? It's hit her heart, hasn't it?" Stiles asked, thinking back to all the movies he had watch and all the shitty teenage fantasy books he had read.

Deaton looked somewhat uncomfortable, "Some vampires are harder to kill than others."

"Will she live?" Scott asked.

"I don't think we should—" Derek began, but Stiles wasn't having it.

"Save her." Stiles said, simply. "She helped save us, save her."

"Stiles—you don't know what she would have done if she had killed the kanima and gotten to you guys."

"If she wanted me dead, I would be dead. She's been following me for two weeks now, I need to know who—" Stiles found his eyes at the sight of her knees, the dark denim was torn at one of the legs, whether it was a stylistic choice wasn't something he knew, but from his position, he saw a peek of raised flesh. Just at the start of her thigh. Something in him, probably his heart, stopped.

He started forward, not knowing his own pace, and lifted the fabric of the rip to reveal the scar further.

"Sammy." He said, as hoarse as a whisper, but the werewolves heard him loud and clear.

"Stiles, I don't think—" Scott tried, but the beating of Stiles' heart told him that he wasn't letting it go.

The werewolf's best friend looked pleading, "It is, look at her—really _look_ at her—"

"Stiles—"

" _Look._ " Stiles pressed, forcing Scott to look at the girl's thigh. There was a small, circular shape of pale jagged skin against the slight grey of smooth leg. It was, undoubtedly, a bullet wound.

Scott inhaled slightly, but he didn't want to believe it so easily.

"Who's Sammy?" The boys ignored Derek, stepping closer to the metal table. Deaton cleared his throat from a fridge near the doorway.

"This is the blood of a pet rabbit that we had in here a couple of days ago, I took some samples to determine whether or not she was pregnant or if she had an issue with her digestive system—if we want to revive this girl, this will do the trick." Deaton said, a vile of crimson in his hands. Scott looked at Stiles, and he swallowed.

"Do it." Stiles said simply, nodding.

"When she wakes, she'll be hungry. I haven't encountered a vampire in many, many years, so unfortunately, I don't keep vervain anywhere around here to weaken her. Scott and Derek, you need to hold her down. We don't know how strong she is, but it's better safe than sorry. Stiles, step back." Deaton ordered, his tone calm.

No one spoke then, everybody did as they were told. Stiles stepped back, Deaton stepped forward. Popping the lid off the vile, Deaton took his empty hand and pulled down on the girl's bottom lip, opening her mouth. The whole room held their breath as the veterinarian poured the contents into her mouth.

Deaton stepped back, and everyone exchanged glances.

"Well, did it work?" Stiles asked, urgently.

"I don't—" Deaton begun, but as if on cue, her skin turned from its previous grey to slightly tan again. Then, her eyes open. And within the time between two heartbeats, her hand was at Stiles' throat, pressing his back to the wall. Her fangs were out, and her eyes were gold and black. She was a predator with her prey right in the palm of her hands.


End file.
